Star Trek: Experimentation
by Aconitum-Napellus
Summary: In his first year in Starfleet Academy, his first time away from his parents, Spock decides to explore his sexuality. Slash, rated 18.


That first year in San Francisco was a time of experimentation. It was only logical, after all. It was the first time Spock had been living entirely on his own resources, away from the gravity of the name of Sarek. It was the first time he had felt able to act entirely for himself, instead of representing the family. It was his first opportunity to really explore his human side, and find out what it meant to be related to the strange, chaotic inhabitants of this planet.

He had been away from home many times in the past; travelling to distant planets almost more often than about his beautiful, warm, orange-skied world. It was almost inevitable as the son of the Vulcan Ambassador that he would travel widely. It was also inevitable that as the son of a human woman he would spend time on Earth. He had family there, after all. He recalled long seasons – what they called _summer_ but would barely pass as winter on Vulcan – trying to decipher the oddities of his human relatives. But in comparison to the short-lived humans, Vulcans were relatively slow developers, and when he had spent time amongst others his age he had been interested in them only as examples of _homo sapiens_ and not as potential mates.

Now everything was different. In eschewing the lure of the Vulcan Science Academy for Starfleet he had marked himself out as a rebel. Alone he had made the journey from his birth planet to the planet of his mother's people, and alone he had organised his accommodation and registered for his courses and set himself up with the necessities of life. At least he was relatively familiar with human food, and it was easy to find vegan restaurants or purchase the right products to cook himself a pleasant enough meal. He was familiar enough with various odd human ways of doing things and he could navigate around them. As long as he could set up his meditation flame in his room and learn and eat and sleep in peace, he would be all right.

The sexual tapestry of this emotional world was another thing entirely. It was like setting sail in an unknown sea. Everywhere he moved on Vulcan he had known that he was under the eyes of others. It wasn't judgement, exactly; not in the way that phrase implied a moral scrutiny or censure for unusual acts. But there was a constant sense of being under the observation of teachers and elders and betters. There was a constant sense that the slightest slip would be evaluated.

Here there was no such problem. With the right headgear and in dim light he could even pass as human, at least until he opened his mouth or someone touched the heat of his skin. It was rather satisfying to do this; to slip into a club or bar and order something with a touch of alcohol and then sit at a table in a shaded corner, just watching. He watched humans and other species, mostly humans, sitting, talking, standing, swaying together in time to the music, or what they thought was in time to the music. To Spock they were never quite in time. They were always a split second behind the beat, or just a split second before the beat. He watched arms reaching round waists or necks, and lips coming closer and touching, and that curious action that he had seen, only once or twice, his parents perform. Kissing. It was fascinating that the contact of sensitive lips and an exchange of saliva was considered so delightful by some.

Humans kissed everywhere. It didn't take alcohol and dim lighting to stimulate such contact, it seemed. He saw them kissing in the street, in cafés, at the library, after classes at the Academy. He watched them discreetly, because he had found out early on that staring was not usually tolerated by people engaged in such activities. He wondered what it felt like. He touched his own finger to his lips and felt just how sensitive they were. He knew all about how many nerve endings there were there. It was necessary for a primate's lips to be sensitive and dexterous to aid them in their exploration of food. His lips were sensitive too. It was a pleasant sensation, the tip of his finger brushing over his own lips. Perhaps that sensation would be heightened if he were human, if it were someone else touching his lips, and he expected sexual intercourse to be the natural conclusion to such an activity.

So he watched, and he wondered. He was something of an anthropologist, he supposed. Xeno-anthropology was one of the recommended classes at the Academy, and he had taken it. He had taken all the classes he could fit into his timetable. This was extra curricular study, and it was fascinating.

He had learnt all about Vulcan biology at home. He knew all there was to know about the Vulcan mating cycles; all that was necessary, at least. But he also knew that his body didn't respond quite as a pure Vulcan body was supposed to. He knew that he had to work harder to control his responses. In his dreams sometimes he imagined himself human, and imagined himself doing those things that humans did, and he woke confused and staring and then he had to bundle his covers up and put them in through the laundry before anyone found out. His mother found out, because she always did, somehow, and she had quiet words with him about it. He would have burnt with shame had he not been Vulcan. Half Vulcan. Half Vulcan, of course. Had he actually been Vulcan they wouldn't have needed to have that talk.

So, perhaps he was to be burdened with the Vulcan cycle, and perhaps he was not, but it was undeniable that his body could function like any human male if he allowed it to. Now he was on Earth, away from parental influence and the judgement of his fellow Vulcans, he intended to explore the human side of his sexuality.

He stepped into a bar where the music was so loud it vibrated through the floor, through his fingertips and lips. He could feel it right in his heart, right in his sex. He let himself feel the heart vibration and the sex vibration, because it was all part of the cultural ritual in which he was hoping to participate, but he closed down his mind to a lot of what was assailing his ears. It was the deep down vibration that the humans valued, he thought, whether or not they knew it.

They were swaying to the music here, just out of time, as they always were. There were people kissing on the dance floor, people kissing at the bar. Perhaps alcohol made it easier to kiss. When a waitress in an extremely brief outfit came over and asked him what his poison was, he regarded her for a moment, then ordered a strong cocktail. It was an odd way to phrase a request for a drink order, but alcohol was, after all, poison.

The drink was three different colours, red, yellow, and green, swirling together. It was called a traffic light. He had memorised the drinks menu with one glance, and he had chosen this particular drink not because it seemed appealing so much as that it seemed highly alcoholic. He didn't imagine it would have as much effect on him as on a human, but that was why he was tending towards the high end of the scale.

The taste of it was scalding on his tongue, but he had drunk worse. It had very little effect. He could feel a slight loosening in his muscles. After his second drink he noticed that the humans seemed not to be dancing so visibly out of time. Logically, it must be his perception of their movements that had changed, not the movements themselves. Fascinating.

He sat with his next drink in front of him. This one was called 'Sex on the Beach.' An odd name for a drink, but the taste was good. His mother had mixed something similar for him in his childhood; without the alcohol, of course. It was the peach and the cranberry that reminded him of childhood. The vodka was something entirely recent in his life. He liked vodka. It was efficient.

'Well, hello.'

The human who slipped into a chair opposite him was a perfect example of the species. Young, fit, muscular, tanned, and handsome. His hair was blond, although it was a kind of blond that Spock thought was brought on more strongly by exposure to the sun. As the summer months expanded, the human's skin would have become darker and his hair lighter. In the winter, the hair would be more brown, and the skin paler. The eyes were a green-brown colour that his mother would describe as 'hazel.' Neither hazelnuts nor leaves were that colour.

'Good evening,' he nodded.

Should he smile? Sometimes he experimented with smiling. When he smiled at himself in the mirror, he always thought his reflection looked startling and wrong.

He didn't smile, although the alcohol in him suggested that smiling might be best.

'Not human,' the young man said.

Spock let one of his eyebrows move upwards. The man was perceptive, then. He wasn't, he thought, particularly inebriated. He had probably drunk less than Spock himself; although, of course, the alcohol was having far less effect on him than it would on the human.

'Indeed,' he said, nodding his head very slightly.

'Why the disguise?' the man asked.

A young man, Spock decided, although probably no younger than eighteen. Obviously sexually mature, but only recently so. He looked just as young and fresh as most first year cadets. He was probably about equal in age to Spock himself.

Spock lifted a hand and touched the light hat that he wore low over his ears. It wasn't unfashionable and there were others in this bar with the same kind of garment, so it wasn't the hat itself that had stood out. It was his alienness. Sometimes his difference was undeniable.

'It is easier, at times,' he said, raising his voice over the music.

'Vulcan?' the man asked.

He nodded. It was more convenient to just nod than to explain his parentage. Even now, people sometimes reacted strangely when they heard of his mixed blood. Sometimes, he encountered hostility. It was not logical, but prejudice existed.

'I didn't know Vulcans came to places like this,' the man said, exhibiting a different kind of prejudice. This wasn't hostile. It was just a case of extending an expectation of behaviour to apply to an entire species.

'I am not _Vulcans_,' Spock corrected him. 'I am one Vulcan, one of a race of people as varied as humankind. I have come to Earth to learn. Learning is not merely restricted to the Academy.'

'An Academy man?' the human asked, approval in his voice.

He reached out a hand, which Spock declined to take. The touching of fingers was far too intimate, but hardly any humans seemed to realise that. This human, though, appeared to realise his mistake quickly, and withdrew his hand.

'Uh – sorry. Cultural differences. I forgot. I'm at the Academy too. Jim Kirk.'

Spock tilted his head a little in acknowledgement. 'Spock,' he said simply.

'So, Spock,' Jim said slowly. He picked up his drink and swirled it a little in the glass, before taking a sip. 'You've come to this bar – to learn?'

Now Spock did allow something of a smile to touch his mouth. It was an odd feeling but he was getting more used to it.

'I am fully cognisant of the function of this type of establishment,' he said, making his voice low, but clear. 'I am here to participate, not simply to observe.'

'Ah,' Jim said.

He cleared his throat and took another sip of his drink. Spock sat, observing his reaction. It was quite fascinating. His pulse had quickened, and there was more colour in his cheeks. A human wouldn't have noticed.

'Would – er – would you like to participate in a little dancing?' Jim asked, nodding at the dance floor.

Spock's eyes followed Jim's without thought. He watched the swaying bodies for a moment, then looked back. What he had seen was quite clear in his mind. An eidetic memory allowed for a brief glimpse to be analysed at leisure.

He took special care to control the urge of his body to send blood flushing to his cheeks. Embarrassment was a most human emotion, his father had told him. Blushing was a most human reaction. Really, what was there to blush at? As he had told the human, he was fully cognisant of the purpose of this place. People came here to meet, ascertain their attractiveness to one another, leave, and mate. There was nothing that coyness could serve in this area. Still, it was a sight to make many blush. Live bodies swaying together, pressed hard against one another, hands roaming to areas no Vulcan would ever consider touching in public. Hands grasping hands, fingertips pushed against fingertips.

'I am not – ' he said, then, uncharacteristically, faltered. He cleared his throat and said, 'I haven't studied dancing.'

The human shrugged, a quicksilver movement that made an odd little spike of electricity move in Spock's abdomen. Was this sexual attraction? The human was really quite attractive.

'Who's studied that kind of dancing? It's not a coming out ball of the nineteenth century.' He held out his hand. 'Come on.'

Spock declined to take the hand, but he stood up, putting his glass down on the table and pushing it neatly away from the edge.

'Here,' Jim said, not forcing the issue with his hand, but just gesturing Spock towards the dance floor. 'Come on over here. There aren't really any moves. It's a slow dance. You just sway.'

Spock looked at the other bodies. The human was right in that there weren't what looked like prescribed moves, but still, he could see similarities running through the movements. It was as if everyone here had been given a crib sheet, and only he had missed it.

'Sway,' he repeated.

The human put his arms around Spock's torso, and Spock tried not to stiffen. It was – odd. The last time he had experienced such a close contact had been just before he left his home to join the transport to Earth. His father had made himself absent that day, and it had only been his mother at home. She had declined to go with him to the terminal, saying, 'I know it would only embarrass you.' He had denied that embarrassment was possible, but when she had hugged him so tightly, and wept, he had acknowledged silently that perhaps embarrassment would have occurred.

So, that was his last experience of such a contact, and the purposes of that hug were surely very different to this one. He worked to keep his mental shields high, because with the close touch the human's unguarded mind was flooding towards his own. Then Jim clamped a hand about Spock's wrist, and there was a rush that made him gasp. Touching fingertips was the real intimacy, but this was so close.

He held it only long enough to pull Spock's arm out and position it around his own body.

'Like this,' he said, placing Spock's hand on the small of his back. 'Go on, the other too. I'm sorry, this isn't going to be easy if I can't touch your hands.'

Spock moved his other hand around and put it on the human's waist. It was odd. He could feel, below the thin layer of cloth, the firm band of muscle that held his internal organs. He could feel the soft pulse of his blood. Scent rose from him, something inorganic mixed with the musk of sweat. He wasn't sure if it were some kind of deodorant or the product with which his clothes had been cleaned. There were so many scents mingling with the heat of the bodies around him. Alcohol, perfumes, cloth, sweat, flatus, foods. It was like some kind of soup. There were so many unguarded minds, so many thoughts driven by animal instincts, that he felt half-drowned. He let his hands rest on the human's waist, feeling the corresponding press of the human's hands on his, and swayed in time to the music. It was an odd experience.

'You're allowed to move your feet,' Jim said after a while.

He had hardly been aware that his feet were not moving. He had been focussing on the feeling of the human's body pressed hard against his. There was the thud of his heartbeat, coming from higher in the chest than his own. There was the coolness of his body temperature. There were the small noises of his breathing and movements in his gut. His hair smelt of something which reminded Spock curiously of his mother. It must be a particularly human smell.

'Feet, Spack,' Jim said again.

'Spock,' Spock corrected him automatically. It must be odd not to have perfect recall.

'Spock,' Jim repeated, as if tasting the word in his mouth. 'Spock.'

'Jim – is a contraction of James. Am I correct?'

This was an odd way to talk, with his head so close to the human's, but looking past his shoulder, so that his mouth was close to the human's ear. He supposed it aided hearing in a place so loud.

Jim laughed. 'Yes, it is. I don't know why it's Jim, not Jame, but there it is. That's humans for you.'

'Then your name is James Kirk.'

'James Tiberius Kirk,' the human said, and paused.

Spock knew he was waiting for some kind of reaction to his full name, but he wasn't sure why he would be expected to react.

'Tiberius – is unusual?' he guessed.

'It is, quite. But there it is. It's a family name. Has been for a long way back. There's always a Tiberius as long as there's a boy. At least I got it for the middle, not the first.' He laughed. 'This is not what people usually talk about when they're dancing like this.'

'Hmm,' Spock said, moving his gaze across the other bodies on the dance floor. Lights of different colours flashed over them, causing a strange kaleidoscope effect. 'I observe that most aren't talking at all.'

'No,' Jim said. 'They're using their mouths for – other things.'

'Other – ' Spock said.

Jim had moved a hand up to tease fingers into the short hair at the back of Spock's head. He was lifting his lips towards Spock's mouth. Spock was only a very little taller than him, but there was something pleasing in the way the human lifted his face. That little feeling of electricity made itself known in the depths of his abdomen again, but it was nothing to what happened when those lips touched his.

For a moment he couldn't think. It was intensely curious. He simply couldn't think. He _felt_, and there was nothing cerebral about it. Soft cool on his lips, hotter than the human's hands, but still cool against his own lips. The taste of another person's breath. The little pulse of blood beating against his lips. The fingers of the human touching his scalp through his hair, as if he were clumsily trying to initiate a meld. The jagged lines of electricity which weren't confined to his abdomen now, but were moving in bolts between his lips, right through his torso, and into his genitals. It was –

He couldn't think what it was until the lips had stopped moving for a moment. It was incredible. The level of sensitivity was incredible.

'Open your mouth, Spock,' Jim murmured, his mouth so close to Spock's own that he felt the puff of his breath.

He opened his mouth. When the lips came back, there was the most curious thing of all; the human's tongue, moving into his mouth and touching his own. He almost pulled away. He had never imagined such a thing. He had seen that humans, when kissing, opened their mouths, and that their lips became wet, but he had never imagined a person's tongue seeking so far into another person's mouth. What on earth was the purpose?

He stopped himself moving back. Unlike humans, he had the ability to check these impulses before they were translated into muscle movement. It was unlikely the human had any serious medical complaints, and if he did have some kind of virus it could be easily dealt with at a medical centre. So, he let the human's tongue touch his. He let it touch his teeth. After a moment, he moved his own tongue in a similar way. He felt how muscular the human's tongue was. He tasted the faintly pineapple taste of his saliva and the remnants of the last alcoholic drink he had imbibed. He indulged fully in the touching of lips and the exchange of saliva, and tried to re-enter that state of not-thinking that had captivated him with the first instance of the kiss.

'Shall we take this somewhere else?' Jim asked, when the kissing stopped again.

'Take – this?' he asked, feeling somewhat breathless.

'This. Ourselves. Shall we take our bodies somewhere else, and see what we can do with them?'

He felt a little spear of surprise. Of course. Of course, that was what the human would want. That was what people came here for, wasn't it? It was what he, Spock, had come here for. He had wanted to experiment with physicality and sexuality. That was precisely why he had walked into this bar.

'Yes,' he said. 'We may take this somewhere else.'

((O))

_Somewhere else_, at first, was the beach. It was quiet and smelt of salt and the wrack of the sea. Spock could discern seaweed, human urine, the sharp scent of some kind of accelerant, wood smoke, charred meat, and a number of other things. From far off, beneath the water, he thought he could hear the song of grey whales.

'Do you hear that?' he asked the human.

'What?' Jim asked, turning his ear. There was the low bass thump of music coming from somewhere, and he said, 'Frat boys, I guess.'

Spock shook his head. 'Not the music. The whale song.'

He felt the human's surprise like a little spark. 'You can _hear_ whale song? Are there even whales out there any more?'

'Some species remain,' Spock said. How was it that he knew this, and the human did not? 'In particular, I can hear grey whales. Have you not taken basic biology?'

Jim Kirk laughed. 'I'm from Iowa, Spock. I'm as landlocked as they come. I haven't taken Whales 101. I just knew we'd exterminated – what? The blues, the humpbacks?'

'Humans have caused five whale species to become extinct,' Spock said. 'The others remain, in small numbers which have been gradually recovering since initiatives to ban hunting and reduce interference from shipping and pollution.'

'Ah,' Jim said.

There was palpable shame in the air. Spock wondered if he were picking all these emotions up so easily because of the amount of alcohol consumed by both parties.

'But, no,' Jim said. 'No, I don't hear whale song. My hearing isn't that good.'

'Hmm,' Spock replied. 'A pity.'

One morning he had swum out into the deep water and dived, eyes open, lungs full of rich Earth air. He could stay down far longer than humans, adapted as he was to a lower oxygen content in the atmosphere. He hadn't seen whales then, but he had swum alongside dolphins.

'Are you really thinking about the cetacean species of Earth?' Jim asked.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. 'I'm quite capable of thinking of a number of things simultaneously,' he said.

'And the other things you're thinking about?' Jim asked.

'A number of things,' Spock said again.

He was thinking about the advanced molecular biology assignment he needed to turn in in three days time, about the cetacean species of Earth, about how it felt to kiss a human, about the proposals he had seen for the new Constitution class of starship, and various other topics. He didn't feel the need to tell the human everything that he was thinking of. After all, he had only known him for ninety three minutes.

'How about this?' Jim asked, and he took hold of the cloth of Spock's top roughly with one hand, pulling him closer, tilting his mouth up in that pleasing way, and kissing him again.

'Yes,' Spock said when the kiss was over. 'Yes, I was thinking of that.'

Jim had pressed his body so close against Spock's that he could feel all of him. He could feel the slight bulge at his groin pressing against his own. He hadn't done that in the club.

'My place is just up there,' Jim said, nodding over his own shoulder at a low-rise apartment block set back from the beach. 'Shall we go?'

((O))

It was a neat, small place. There were few ornaments, but on one surface was what looked like an antique model of a sailing ship. To Spock's surprise the shelves were crowded with real books, many of them antiques. Some were even wrapped in leather; animal leather, not synthetic. It was a curious sight.

'You must read a lot,' he commented, and Jim shrugged, tossing his key fob and wallet onto a side table.

'I read enough,' he said. 'Not as much as a Vulcan, I bet. You ever read real books?'

Spock had picked up one of the books and was flicking through the real-paper pages. They felt soft to his fingertips. He allowed himself a moment of nostalgia. The scent of the paper reminded him of days sheltering from the blistering sun in the cool of his childhood home, sitting curled on a chair with a book in his hands, ninety-nine percent of his mind on the words, and one percent listening out for his father's approach.

'At home,' he said, thinking of his mother's library, which was as full of books as this room here. 'I have little use for the weight and volume of hard copy books when I am travelling.'

'Ah, but you must be here for the long haul?' Jim pointed out. 'You don't graduate the academy without a good few years in residence.'

'True,' Spock said. 'But it is still easier to transport books here from Iowa than from Vulcan.'

Jim threw himself back into an easy chair, laughing. 'This is a novel experience for me,' he said. 'Usually when I bring a guy back here there isn't half so much talking, and especially not about books.'

'Books are interesting,' Spock commented, and Jim laughed again.

'Yes, books are interesting. Have you read the Odyssey, Spock?'

'Of course,' Spock said. 'I've read a great deal of the Earth classics.'

'In the original, I bet,' Jim said, and Spock nodded.

'It is always better to read a text in the original.'

'And did it set you alight?' Jim asked. His eyes were alight. It was quite curious. There was a spark in his eyes that hadn't been there before. 'The voyaging. Did it speak to you?'

Spock tried to parse those metaphors. 'It was a fascinating insight into the mind of the ancient Greeks,' he said finally. 'Much of the narrative was quite improbable, however.'

Jim looked a little disappointed. 'Neither of us came here to talk about books,' he said after a moment.

Spock regarded him. He had quite an acceptable animal body. He was trim, strong, and fit. The way his clothes hung on him suggested there was little extraneous fat and plenty of firm muscle underneath. Perhaps there was a certain illogic in assessing the human as if he wanted to share his genetics, though. Of course it would be possible to splice their genes into a stripped out egg, if reproduction was desirable, but it wasn't something that he, personally, desired. He was experimenting, not attempting to reproduce.

'I'm interested in your sexuality,' he said honestly. 'May I be permitted to ask a question?'

Jim shrugged easily. 'Of course.'

'Are you homosexual?' he asked.

'No, I don't think so,' Jim replied. There was no hesitation in his answer. 'No, I'm open to pretty much anyone. I have a weakness for girls, but I have a weakness for sex, and it's a lot easier to get that from men. In all honesty, _are you homosexual_ feels like an outdated question. I suppose gender and sex roles are more rigid on Vulcan, though.'

Spock tilted his head a little. He hadn't thought much about questions of sexuality until he had come to Earth. Things on Vulcan were rigid; Jim Kirk was right. There wasn't a lot of room for interpretation in the solemn lectures he had received about the sex life of his species. He saw couples of various genders on Vulcan, but he had not thought to question his own orientation until he came to Earth and was confronted with a veritable rainbow. He had kept his desires well fettered until he had the opportunity to loosen the bonds.

'Forgive me if you found the question insulting,' he said.

'I didn't find it insulting. I found it interesting. So, what about you?'

Spock considered that. Sometimes it seemed that Vulcan emotions and desires were so cultivated and controlled that it was hard to tell what they might be in their natural state. He had been thinking about this for weeks, and he still didn't know the answer.

'I have few preferences,' he said finally. 'It's no longer necessary for prospective partners to be male-female in order to breed, which means that sexual contact has no need to be restricted to the needs of reproduction. I'm currently exploring the situation.'

Jim laughed again. It was a pleasant sound, a deep chuckle, low in the chest. It made Spock feel curiously warm.

'And that's why we're here, yes? You want to explore, I want to fuck. I think if you entered those two things into an equation you'd find they equalled out to the same thing.' He regarded Spock for a moment, then said, 'We're both a little drunk, but I'm not so drunk as to not ask this. How old are you, Spock? Are you – legal – according to the laws of your people?'

Spock lifted an eyebrow. He hadn't expected this question. He hadn't realised that he looked so young.

'I am above the age of consent on both planets,' he assured the human.

'Good,' Jim said. 'Good.'

He pushed himself up out of the chair and moved to the sideboard. He jerked two glasses together with his fingers, and took the stopper out of a decanter of dark amber liquid. He poured a little of the drink into each glass, and offered one to Spock. Spock took it and sipped. It was Andorian brandy. Pleasant, and highly alcoholic. It helped to replace some of the relaxation that was slipping away as the alcohol he had consumed in the club worked its way out of his system.

'All right,' Jim said. 'Talking doesn't get anyone anywhere, does it? I've never slept with a Vulcan. I'm open to exploring the situation. Shall we fuck?'

The baldness of the question momentarily startled Spock, but he covered his reaction by taking another sip of his drink. Then he put the glass down on the sideboard and moved it carefully away from the edge.

'In my culture, this would begin with the touching of hands,' he said. 'Humans, I surmise, begin by kissing?'

_My culture. Humans_. He inwardly reprimanded himself for the ridiculous deception. He thought of his human mother shaking her head in disappointment at his concealment of his heritage, then he realised he didn't want to think about his mother at all at this moment, because Jim had stepped very close to him, and was smiling that warm smile.

'Shall we start with kissing?' Jim asked. 'You seem a bit – wary – about touching my hands.'

Spock allowed the smallest of smiles. 'It _is_ more difficult with a human who cannot control his thoughts,' he said. 'The touching of hands allows a telepathic connection which is highly intimate. I – don't believe either of us are ready to – '

'No,' Jim said very quickly. 'No, I'm not ready for that. I brought you back here because you're – well, you're _very_ attractive, Spock. But I don't want an intimate connection with your mind.'

Was that disappointment Spock felt? He pushed it away. He hadn't come here for a cerebral connection any more than Jim had brought him here for that. Besides, Jim was putting a hand on the back of his neck and kissing him again, and he found that his lips were just as sensitive even after repeated exposure. Something curious was happening that made him think less about intellect and more about bodily urges.

Jim was slipping his hands under Spock's clothing, and he had to restrain the part of him that wanted to grab the human by the wrists and calmly move his hands away. He gave himself to the sensation, and found that it was good. It was more than good. It was exquisite. He mirrored Jim's actions, touching the cool human skin with his own hands, tracing the lines of his ribs and the contours of his muscles. He found a thin dusting of hair on the human's chest, and nipples that were peaked into hard nubs. The human's pulse was increasing, and so was his own. The human's temperature was rising, just a little, and so was his own. The human's breath was coming a little faster, and as well as kissing he was using his teeth, nipping just a little at Spock's lips, then at his jaw, then at the curves and point of his ear. They were shedding clothes, and Spock found he didn't mind that at all. He was gratified to have more flesh to explore, and more of his own flesh exposed to be touched by those artful hands.

'Shall we take this to the bed?' Jim asked.

Spock found it curiously hard to speak. He opened his mouth and uttered something that would more properly be described as a noise than as a word. It was an animal noise. Everything about this was about surrendering oneself to one's animal nature, and forgetting the cerebral.

The bed was a little wider than a normal single, but not as wide as a double. It was covered in a thin blanket of a deep purple colour that Spock found pleasing. Jim bundled that blanket up and tossed it onto the floor, and then he turned his attention to the remainder of his clothing, stripping off shoes, socks, trousers, and underwear with swift efficiency.

Spock felt a moment of doubt. He stood there, regarding that intensely human body before him. It was as trim as it had seemed beneath the clothes, as it had felt to his fingers. The genital anatomy wasn't appreciably different to his own. He noticed that the human was uncircumcised, which was not surprising, as the custom had largely died out. He noticed that his penis was flaccid, but slightly thickened with blood. He was definitely on his way to arousal. He wondered about his own genitalia, and whether or not he would find it easy to perform. He had never done this before.

'Don't overthink this,' Jim said.

Spock blinked. The human was utterly naked before him, utterly unselfconscious, ready to indulge in the physical act of lovemaking. If a human could manage this with a practical stranger, then surely Spock could? He removed his shoes and socks, and then his trousers. Finally, he removed his underwear.

'Ah,' Jim said, as if he had just been perusing a particularly tempting menu and had settled on a particularly tasty dish.

Spock was forced to control his urge to flush.

'Let _go_, Spock,' Jim told him, stepping forward again. 'If we're going to fuck, coyness won't help.'

His hands were all over Spock's body again. The closer proximity helped. It helped not to be so separate, to be regarding the human's nudity at a distance. The feeling of his flesh all along Spock's own bare flesh was a beautiful distraction. Jim's hands were everywhere. All of a sudden they were at Spock's groin, touching his penis with firm determination. They were touching the skin of his scrotum, stroking it, and shivers ran through him.

He gave himself up to sensation and desire. It didn't seem to matter that he hadn't done this before. He deliberately lowered his controls and let his animal nature take over. He found himself exploring the human's body with unfettered fascination. They were coming down on the bed, tumbling onto the mattress. He was lying on his back and Jim was astride him, bending down and using his mouth to kiss Spock's chest, to nip at his nipples and lick his skin. They were both hard now, and there was a moment of electrifying shock as his own erection brushed the cool of the human's. He didn't know what to do. With a female it would be obvious. One inserted one's member into the vagina, and thrust. What was he supposed to do with a male?

All of the dry sexual education he had received on Vulcan was utterly useless. This was an entirely different kind of lesson. Jim pinned his wrists to the bed and leant down and nipped at his neck, and murmured, 'If you're this hot at the surface you must be like Mercury inside.'

'I – ' he said, because he had no idea how to answer.

'Can I find out?' Jim asked. 'Does – Vulcan anatomy allow – '

'Rectal penetration,' Spock breathed.

'Well, that's an erotic phrase,' Jim said dryly.

The human's face was so close to his own, and in pinning Spock's hands to the bed their mental contact was surging. He could see exactly what Jim desired. Rectal penetration.

'Yes,' Spock said. 'Vulcan anatomy allows.'

'You've never done this before,' Jim said.

Spock could tell that Jim had startled himself by knowing that. The human wasn't fully aware of the mental connection that Spock could feel, but he was picking things up from it.

'I will be gentle,' Jim said, but Spock could tell that he was half gone, what passed as human control effaced by his sexual desire. He didn't mind. He had a high tolerance for pain.

Jim took a bottle of lubricant and spread it on his fingers. He spread it on his own erect penis and, when Spock let his legs fall apart, touched his fingers to the tight opening into Spock's body. Spock gasped aloud at the sensation of that. It was incredible. He had never been touched there, and it was incredible. When the fingers entered him he found himself thrusting his body harder onto the sensation of the touch inside his body. He was so utterly open, so defenceless, and it was intoxicating.

'Ready?' Jim asked.

Spock fixed his eyes on the human's, and nodded.

'Please,' he said. 'Yes, I am quite, quite ready.'

It was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was momentarily painful, but the pain didn't last long, and he was quite capable of controlling it. The human's erection was thick and cool inside him, and it touched something there that seemed to undo any last little misgivings. Every time he entered Spock found himself dizzy and unable to stop himself from gasping aloud. He put his hand on his own hot erection and gripped, because he felt a powerful need for that gratification. The human's hand came over his, and everything became one great movement, the human's erection moving inside him, his own trapped between their bodies and clenched in their hands, all moving to the same rhythm until it was almost too much to bear. Some kind of flood unleashed itself. For a moment he was afraid that he was urinating, because it felt so continuous and warm, but the sensation was so incredible that he just let himself surge along with the crest of the wave. Jim was grunting out something utterly unintelligible, and he became aware that the human had climaxed inside him almost at the same time as he himself had come.

'God,' Jim said after a long time of silence.

They had both just been lying there, the human slumped heavily over Spock's body, Spock's hand resting on the sweat-beaded small of Jim's back. There was dampness between them, and the incredible feeling of being filled was slipping away. The animal feelings were subsiding with every breath he took, and his rational mind was taking over, starting to analyse exactly what had happened, how it had felt, and what it meant.

'God,' Jim said again. 'Vulcans… I never knew...'

'I am unsure as to how to understand that statement,' Spock said, and was startled to find his voice was unsteady.

Jim laughed, and Spock could feel it all through his chest.

'I never expected a Vulcan to be so damn good in bed,' Jim clarified. 'I mean – amazing. I had never even imagined – You're so hot.'

'My body temperature is higher than yours,' Spock admitted.

What would his people say to this? How would the stoic ranks at the Vulcan Science Academy respond to this kind of practical experimentation? He thought about that for a moment, then found that he didn't care. It had been a fascinating, liberating experience. It was one that he would find quite pleasant to repeat. He thought for a moment of what it would be like to take the human's place, to enter the human's cool body. He felt desire surge in him, and controlled it. There would be plenty of time for future experiments, either with this human, or another.

Jim rolled off Spock's body and lay beside him, taking long, deep breaths.

'Well,' he said, glancing sideways at Spock. 'You enjoyed your research project?'

Spock lifted an eyebrow. 'It was – fascinating,' he said. 'But when we have cleaned up, I would like to talk about the Odyssey.'

Jim guffawed suddenly.

'You're unpredictable. I'll give you that. I never expected a Vulcan to be so unpredictable.'

Spock remained silent, his eyes on the smooth ceiling above him. The sensory overload in his body was calming down, and he was beginning to become more conscious of his nudity. What would his father say if he knew about this? Had he been foolish? He had never considered himself to be in any danger at the hands of this human, so he didn't think he had put himself at risk physically. He was considerably stronger and more intelligent than a human. He hadn't been foolish in that regard, then; although it would have been possible for the human to drug him, he supposed. But would he be able to manage his emotional reaction if he met this human fully clothed, by day, at the Academy? Well, he would have to. There was no choice.

'If you would prefer, I can clean up and leave,' he said rather uncertainly. 'I'm aware that this type of – '

'Hook up?' Jim suggested.

'Hook up,' Spock repeated uncomfortably, 'doesn't traditionally include deep conversation.'

'Well, you blew that when you started talking about the conservation of marine mammals,' Jim said bluntly. 'No, Spock, I don't think I would prefer for you to wash up and walk away into the night. I would like to spend time talking with you. The bathroom is just through that door. You can have first shot.'

Spock glanced at the door, picked up his trousers and underpants, and went through into the little room. The light came on automatically at his entrance, revealing a bare little place with only the essentials; toilet, basin, and a shower cubicle with a soap dispenser attached to the wall. He used the shower quickly and efficiently, sluicing every plane of his body. He was aware of a faint soreness between his legs, which was, no doubt, to be expected. The feeling of semen leaving his body was slightly disconcerting, but he supposed that was something else to be expected with this kind of intercourse. This was all a brave new world to explore.

He cleansed himself, dried himself, and pulled on his underpants and trousers. When he stepped back out into the bedroom Jim was putting the bedclothes back to rights, apparently just as unselfconscious in his nudity as he had been before. When Spock came out Jim took his place in the bathroom, and Spock went through into the living room, where he found his shirt crumpled on the floor. He put it on, then picked up his discarded glass of Andorian brandy and drank a little more. Then he sat down in an armchair, and considered his situation.

He had never had sexual intercourse with anyone before. He had explored his own body, but he had never had sexual intercourse. If he had stayed on Vulcan and continued in the traditional way, it would have been quite likely that he wouldn't have had sexual intercourse until he entered his Time, and he had no idea how old he might be when that happened, if it ever would. The doctors had all told him that nothing could be certain, with his mixed heritage.

So now he was sitting here in a cadet's apartment, having lost his virginity with a man he had never met until tonight, and might never see again. The night was dark through the window, and he could still hear the thudding music coming from somewhere along the beach, and waves were breaking softly on the sand. Nothing had really changed in the world, but this small thing had changed within him, and it felt like something enormous. It was – strange. There was a lot about this year so far on Earth that had been strange.

Jim came through, dressed in fresh clothing, running fingers through his damp hair. His eyes were sparkling, his tread light. He looked very young, very fit, and content. It was an attractive sight. It would be disappointing, Spock thought, to leave the apartment and never see this man again.

'I guess you have classes in the morning?' the human asked, flicking a look at his own schedule, which was pinned on the wall.

Spock's vision was keen enough to see that his first lecture was at eight thirty. It was almost one a.m. now.

Spock inclined his head. His own schedule was a little more forgiving tomorrow, but he was due at a seminar at ten, and he had intended to work for some hours before that.

'Of course,' he said. 'I can go for quite long periods without sleep, however. I'm aware that humans don't find it so easy.'

Jim smiled as he sat in the chair opposite. 'You don't know many college guys, I bet. It's a tradition, Spock, staying up all night drinking, then staggering into class the morning after and falling asleep at your desk.'

'Hmm,' Spock replied. If it were a tradition, it didn't sound like a sensible one. 'All the same, I'm aware that you have a greater need than I for sleep. I won't leave too late.'

Jim leant forward in his chair, resting his arms on his knees. 'Too late be damned. I want to get to know you, Spock. I find you fascinating. Let's talk about Odysseus.'


End file.
